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Tuesday, 21 December 2010

Much as I love Iceland when I visit earlier this year, it's responsible for the single most disgusting eating experience I've had in my life. And no, I'm not talking about that sheep's face.

I've heard about hákarl, or to give it its proper name, kæstur hákarl (Icelandic for "fermented shark"), as being an unmissable and unique part of Icelandic cuisine, so on my arrival in Reykjavik, I'm determined to track some down.

Like svið, hákarl is traditionally served as part of a þorramatur, the Icelandic banquet served at the midwinter festival þorrablót. Luckily for me however, it's available in Icelandic supermarkets throughout the year. In fact I find a packet of rotten shark in a freezer store (Iceland's Iceland) and nearly buy some to take back home, but then realise it might be considered a bit anti-social on the plane.

Made from a type of shark which is actually poisonous when fresh due to a high content of uric acid and trimethylamine oxide, the process for rendering the shark remotely "edible" is described eloquently in Wikipedia:

"Hákarl is traditionally prepared by gutting and beheading a Greenland or basking shark and placing it in a shallow hole dug in gravelly-sand, with the now-cleaned cavity resting on a slight hill. The shark is then covered with sand and gravel, and stones are then placed on top of the sand in order to press the shark. The fluids from the shark are in this way pressed out of the body. The shark ferments for 6–12 weeks depending on the season in this fashion.

Following this curing period, the shark is then cut into strips and hung to dry for several months. During this drying period, a brown crust will develop, which is removed prior to cutting the shark into small pieces and serving".

I expect all sorts of thoughts are rushing through your head right now, such as "Why?", "How?", "What?", and "Why?" again. As my husband says, someone must have really been determined to eat that shark.

So we bomb it down to Cafe Loki, a bright and airy cafe above Textill, a handicraft shop owned by the same people, in a quarter of Reykjavik with wonderful Asgardian names. In sight of the stunning Hallgrims Church, I order a traditional Icelandic tasting platter, and my husband wisely orders the safe option of lamb pate and soup.

More on this delicacy from Wikipedia:

"Those new to it will usually gag involuntarily on the first attempt to eat it due to the high ammonia content".

Never mind attempting to eat it, we're gagging long before, as the caustic stench of the shark assaults us before the food gets to our table.

(So moved am I by the noxious fumes - like ramming bleach right up your nostrils - I break my self-imposed holiday Twitter ban that night to tweet that it resembles "a tramp's sock soaked in urine").The hilarious thing is how (in contrast to svið), hakarl appears to be the most innocuous thing in the world - little creamy-white cubes stuck on toothpicks - like 70s party food, if that party was held in Hell.

Traditionally it comes with a shot of the local spirit brennivín (a type of aniseedy akvavit or schnapps) which I presume is to soften the blow, although itself is not particularly pleasant and is known as svarti dauði ("black death").

Eyes watering with pain, I decide the easiest way to get rid of the unholy fug is to just eat the damned stuff. Holding my nose, I poke a cube of shark in my mouth and chew.

UUhhhhhHHooorraAAAAAAUhrrrRRRRrughhhauuKAAAarrrrUUUuull.

Hákarl is in fact a good approximation of the sound your throat makes as it contorts and constricts in a desperate attempt to regurgitate the chunks of fetid fish.

So anyway, this piece of advice, dear readers, is my Christmas present to you: please go to Iceland but do not eat the shark.

Thursday, 16 December 2010

This weekend I was totally going to make marshmallows using Bertie Branning, my shiny red Kitchenaid mixer, when I found out you needed a sugar thermometer.

So I thought s*d that for a game of soldiers and decided to make a mahoosive pork pie instead. Partly because it's Christmas time and nothing marks the season better for me than fat wodges of meaty pie, and partly because I was inspired by my very short stint as a pop-up pie assistant (PUPA) for the fabulous Bray's Cottage.

Not that I had all the correct equipment for making a pork pie either. Apparently you need a pie mould of some sort. All I had was a big cake tin, which is why I've ended up with a pork pie bigger than my head. But, hells, it looks good and it tastes even better.

Chuck everything in a deep saucepan, cover with water so the level is about an inch above the ingredients, and bring to a boil.

Then simmer for two hours, regularly topping up with water to avoid any accidents.

Sieve the liquid into a bowl (chuck the bits), cover with clingfilm and leave to cool. Refrigerate.

Make the Filling

Roast the Sichuan peppercorns by heating them in a medium hot frying pan or wok until they darken slightly and become fragrant.

Leave to cool and grind in a mortar or place in a sandwich bag and bash with a rolling pin

Dice the pork shoulder into little chunks. Slightly labour-intensive but worth it for interesting texture. Dice the bacon too.

Mince the chives and then mix all the filling ingredients together.

Make the Pastry

Put the oven on at 180C. Lightly grease and flour your mould or cake tin.

Sift the flour with 1 tsp of salt into a large mixing bowl. Put the lard and water into a saucepan and bring to the boil.

Pour this melted lard/water mixture into the flour and mix with a wooden spoon till you get a pastry dough.

As soon as it's cool enough to handle, take a quarter of the pastry and roll it into a circle big enough to cover the cake tin. This is your pie lid - set this aside on a floured baking tray.

Roll the rest into a circle big enough to cover the base of the tin and the walls.

Lay this piece of pastry in the bottom of the tin and then push and squidge the dough up the sides with your hands as if moulding the inside of a pot.

The idea is to get the same thickness all around without any gaps or tears.

Constructing the Pie

Fill the pastry shell with the pork mix and pat down firmly. It should almost fill the tin, leaving a small border of pastry at the top. Brush this pastry border with beaten egg. Place the pastry lid you set aside earlier on top and squidge all around the edges, making sure you seal carefully.

Poke a hole in the middle of the lid to let out steam and brush all over with beaten egg. Place the tin on top of the baking tray that the lid was on.

Bake the pie for 30 minutes at 180C, then lower the heat to 160C and bake for 90 minutes. The pie will look rocking by then - golden with caramelised bits on top.

Meanwhile reheat the jellied stock so it becomes liquid again. If it didn't set enough, boil vigorously for five minutes. If it's too hard, add a little water when heating.

When the pie's ready, stick a funnel in the hole you made in the pie lid and pour a little of the stock into this hole. Wait for the stock to be absorbed into the meat and then pour a little bit more in. Keep this process up until you (a) lose patience or (b) run out of stock.

Leave the pie to cool and then refrigerate to re-set the jelly. Slice and eat with some pickles. PICKLES!

Sunday, 5 December 2010

"Gylne Tider (Golden Times) is a Norwegian television series that currently airs on TV2. The show ran on television for three seasons, in 2002, 2004 and 2006. In the series we meet presenter Øyvind Mund, cameraman Steinar Marthinsen and sound engineer Ingar Thorsen who travel to meet their childhood heroes."

Go to Kooky Bakes at stand P122 and buy lots of cakes to eat there AND to take home.

There's Whoopie Pies and Cupcakes and Slab Cakes, all well packaged to take away.

You MUST buy a Chocotecture which is the BEST cupcake I have had in my life EVER - dark chocolate sponge, white chocolate ganache injection, white chocolate mouse, butter cream, milk chocolate mousse butter cream, chocolate sauce, milk chocolate disc on top. I wish I had another one RIGHT now.